


at the end of the tunnel

by StormySkiesAhead



Series: pestilence loves war (more than any other) [5]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: 1918 Influenza Pandemic, Alternate Universe - Almost Everyone Lives/Somebody Dies, Gen, Influenza, Light Angst, Pandemics, i've already had one prophecy with this series might as well use my powers for good, needed a happy ending, this series started pre-COVID, twins finally make an appearance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-16
Updated: 2020-09-16
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:27:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26502142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StormySkiesAhead/pseuds/StormySkiesAhead
Summary: Things cannot be so simply defined into Before and After, but one thing is for certain-They will not forget.-(or: in an attempt to wrangle a *positive* prophecy out of this series, the author tries for an upbeat ending)
Relationships: (background), Padmé Amidala/Anakin Skywalker
Series: pestilence loves war (more than any other) [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1566916
Comments: 13
Kudos: 31





	at the end of the tunnel

The most interesting thing about the revelation of Anakin Skywalker’s new fatherhood is that it really isn’t a revelation at all. Anakin walks into the council chamber to find Padmé sitting by the Masters with an awkward smile on her face. Leia has Yoda’s ear between her fingers. It’s honestly rather cute.

There is no titanic argument. There is no expulsion from the Order, which, when Anakin looks back upon it in the many decades to come, makes sense- the Order needs as many hands as there are hands to be provided, given how many have been lost in the last year alone. There is only a quiet assurance that Anakin will not be left trailing in the wind, that the immense rage and protectiveness a parent can dredge up from the deepest crevices within themselves will  _ never _ have to be used.

Parents, of course, do not love selfishly, the way the Dark Side suggests, but one with as much power at their fingertips as Anakin Skywalker possesses… well, the extra reassurance for his children’s safety is more of a mutually beneficial arrangement.

* * *

There’s something magical, about the way people band together after hardship. Glen’s gotten used to seeing still-unvaccinated people in bandannas and masks, waving wildly from rooftops when they see troopers walk past.

Sometimes, Glen sees another ex-trooper or five with a dozen younglings or more behind them. One of the medics- ex-212th and the 348th before it- walks past, carrying a toddler on his hip with a six-year old following closely behind him. He’s hurrying- Glen wonders if he’s trying to catch up to a  _ jetii.  _ And speaking of-

Mordechai waves, dragging Taina behind him. The Padawan gives the Commander a snort, and falls into step.

“Did you finally find it?” Glen asks teasingly, the way he never would have dared before this mess had begun. Mordechai rolls his eyes.

“Of course I did. Do you think I’m the sort of man who wouldn’t color coordinate my mask?” the  _ jetii _ replies, “Although, I do resent the fact that you and Taina have filled my quarters with over-the-ears masks. You both have skulls. You can use overhead masks.”

“Cannot  _ believe _ this is the first Senate meeting in-person since the last wave, it feels like it’s been forever.”

“It’s only been six months,” Mordechai chides her, “Glen and I were stuck on the  _ Perseverance _ for nearly a year for the first wave.”

“Six months is nothing, says the nearly-two-thousand-year-old. Master, I really think you need to get your timeline rearranged,” Taina complains.

The Senate is still as large and imposing as ever, if a little more confusing and altered than it tends to be. Glen feels himself stiffen, but a warm wing over his shoulder helps ease his nervousness.

He’s never been here, for a nomination- he’s never even been here for a  _ vote. _ But here they are, guests of the Keziah Tavi-Padmé Amidala-Bail Organa coalition, and Glen is being  _ asked _ to speak his mind.

Their entire little circle is among them. Skywalker is on a video feed in the corner, fussing over his two tiny children. The Queen of Alderaan has also deigned to make a virtual appearance. Strangely enough, the Crown Princess of T’kari has made one as well.

Quietly, so as not to attract attention, Glen taps out a question on Mordechai’s arm. The  _ jetii _ frowns, and then notices the direction in which Glen has angled himself.

_ Oh, _ his spots say,  _ That’s my sister-in-law. _

_ Really? _ Glen taps back,  _ I think you would have said your sister married a monarch. _

_ Wasn’t important. Royal family is much less powerful than people think, _ the T’karian replies,  _ I mean, they’ve tried to self-abolish the monarchy eight times. People keep electing them back in. _

_ Don’t they think those two are related? _ Glen taps out. Taina clears her throat, and taps them both on the shoulder, jerking her head towards the center of this immense funnel of so-called democracy.

Ah, yes.

The Chancellorship is still unfilled.

After this week, it will not be.

* * *

Grebe is gentle, with his children- for they are  _ his _ children, cared for with large hands and a warm heart. Nant had always said that his hands were good for growing things.

Grebe is still sure that his General had most likely meant plants, when they’d said that, but their words apply to growing children, too.

He sleeps in the crèche, sometimes, worried beyond all things that something will happen if he dares to take one step outside of the door.

Some of them keep one skin, some of them change between two or a handful, and some flicker between half a hundred before settling down for the night. Grebe has no favorites. They are all kind, loving children.

They will stay that way, when they’re grown. They will become kind Padawans and non-Padawans alike, and then kind adults, and they will remember him when he is old and his beard has gone white.

For now, though, in this time where their whole future is up in the air, Grebe, formerly of the 348th, sits with his back against the wall and his eyes on the crèche and what little he can see of the stars beyond them.

“We should move,” he says to the shadow framed by the doorway, “I know that you  _ jetii _ need to be closer to the heart of the galaxy, but-”

“You’re right,” the shadow replies, and begins to glow. Ah. Tavi. The T’karian curls up near one of the cradles.

There have been many Force-Sensitive children in the crèche, lately. Too many. Grebe knows well enough that the only reason this many children have landed on their doorsteps is because there is nowhere else left for them.

The crèche is built with toddlers and young children in mind, not three-month olds. Grebe has been doing his best, but sometimes, as with a great number of things, his best is not enough.

“I’m what?”

“You’re right,” Tavi replies. 

A little bundle of fur in the cradle behind him grumbles, and the  _ jetii _ hums gently in response, letting his spots wink out.

“We  _ should _ move. The Order has connected themselves too closely to politics as of late, and I am not immune from that myself. And…”

“This city isn’t healthy,” Grebe concludes. He  _ knows _ this, like he knew as a cadet that any one of his brothers would catch him if he fell, and like he knew the Kaminoans would reprimand them for it. This city-planet, with thousands of layers that have long since choked every last bit of what was once the life of this world away from it, is sick by design.

The T’karian tips his head to the side, and nods.

“No, it it is not.”

* * *

There is more than the fair share of fear and anticipation in the air, as of late.

It is understandable, to say the least. Ahsoka herself is not unused to the feeling- she  _ is _ one of the best-known wartime Padawans for a reason- but here, now…

It feels as if the entire Jedi Order is holding its breath. In a way, they are.

They’ve tossed down their chips by making their position- with the men. With the continuing ceasefire, until a new chancellor is elected, the clone army’s position is up in the air.

They’ve managed to snag concessions, precautions, and citizenship grants that will protect as many of the men as they can manage, but if the wrong, war-minded Chancellor is elected, given emergency powers like Palpatine was, like Padmé has voiced aloud as to fearing-

They could push past all of their efforts like nothing.

The  _ only _ course of action left, if that happens, is a strike, active resistance and an active pull from any war efforts, and Ahsoka knows none of them are sure how long they can manage to pull away for.

It’s dark, out, and the lights from the city have snuffed out near all of the starlight. Ahsoka is not the first to wonder what it would be like, to be under a blanket of stars so bright that it might be too light to sleep at night, to smell loamy earth after rain instead of a barely-present break from the smog of Coruscant, and she will not be the last.

She is not surprised in the slightest by the warm shape that falls into step beside her, looking up at the sky.

“This universe,” Padawan Harzen whispers, “It’s  _ billions _ of years old, and yet, we somehow end up here, now.”

“It feels like the end, doesn’t it?” Ahsoka replies, “It feels like we’ve done all we could, but it’ll come crashing down anyways, and-”

“It’s not the end,” Taina chuckles, “We’ve managed to muddle our way through, haven’t we? We’re almost there, Tano, just a little bit longer.”

“Just a little bit longer,” Ahsoka whispers to the sky, “Just a  _ little bit longer.” _

“We can nake it,” Taina encourages her. The dimmed-out stars seem to twinkle a little brighter, or maybe that’s just Master Tavi lifting off in the dark, spots bright for others to follow.

She and Taina sit in the Temple gardens until the soft light just before dawn turns the silver of moonlight into the soft dove-grey of the edge of daybreak.

Ahsoka has seen sunrises on dozens of other worlds, but there is something special about every time a sun rises. Perhaps it is a quiet reassurance that she’s endured the night, perhaps it is encouragement for the week to come.

Obi-Wan finds her there, cast in the golden light of daybreak, long after Taina has left to go find her Master.

There’s something behind his eyes. She knows he understands.

They do not speak, in the garden- instead, they sit in a companionable silence, waiting for the world to fall apart around them. They’ve played their hand, after all.

And the Chancellorship is still unfilled.

* * *

Cody wishes he trusted the Senate more, but if he is going to be truthful, he’ll have to admit he doesn’t.

He and millions of his brothers have been commissioned like objects by the ghosts that used to haunt these halls. He is no child, not anymore- he will not forget that as quickly as they’d like.

The worst thing, of course, is that many of the people Cody is putting his own life and the lives of his brothers in the hands of are trying their best. Cody  _ knows _ this, like he knows that the  _ jetii _ are some of the few who, perhaps, understand what it is to lose children to a war one had no choice in.

They try. Oh, how they try. The  _ jetii _ grieve with them when they lose brothers, and brothers in return grieve for lost  _ jetii. _

It is a circle that begins and ends with death. Their fates are bound, for the Clone Army of the Republic is given little choice, but they  _ are _ given an ally, of sorts, and they are not quick to forget that.

“General,” Cody says, more out of habit than anything. He’s not like Glen- he hasn’t kept close quarters with his  _ jetii _ long enough to feel comfortable with the man’s first name.

“It’s just Obi-Wan, Cody,” Kenobi replies, looking out over Coruscant, with tension along his spine so obvious that he might as well have raised hackles he does not have.

“Did you have a question for me… Obi-Wan?” Cody tries, and winces when it leaves without smoothness or grace from his tongue.

“I was wondering… how Gregor was doing?” the  _ jetii _ asks, “The Order hasn’t been allowed to contact him for the last few months.”

“Oh,” Cody replies, not sure what he was expecting the General- damnit, Obi-Wan- to ask. Concern for a trooper- especially an officer- makes plenty of sense.

“And,” Obi-Wan continues, “I was wondering if you’d made any note of the political machinations that the Senate is turning to at the moment.”

Cody frowns.

“Why?”

Obi-Wan looks just as confused as he does.

“Surely, you’ve noticed,” he says, “That your brothers have been looking to you for guidance? Well, there is a… bloc, of sorts, but mostly  _ you,  _ Cody.”

“Yes?” Cody asks. He doesn’t like these political machinations. Obi-Wan  _ knows _ that.

“All of you, all of your brothers- you have a population higher than that of most  _ planets _ in the Republic, never mind individual ethnic groups, and most  _ certainly _ never mind individual  _ family _ groups. Cody, they’re going to expect you to speak sooner or later, I just dearly hope for your sake that you’re prepared, when they do.”

“The Chancellorship is still unfilled,” Cody replies, “We don’t know  _ what _ will happen.”

“Better to prepare for both the best and the worst, then,” Obi-Wan hums, “I won’t step on your toes regarding this, but I thought I would give you fair warning.”

* * *

There’s a knock, at Rex’s door, in the early hours of the morning, long before the world turns golden in the sunlight. Rex slides it open without much fanfare, and then drags the figures on the other side into his quarters with, if he is being entirely honest,  _ quite a bit _ of fanfare.

Boba Fett glares menacingly. Beside him, a relatively stocky T’karian smiles, grey eyes warm.

“I figured my steps would be  _ slightly  _ less difficult to trace if I dragged this kit in by the scruff of his neck to someone who  _ wasn’t  _ affiliated with T’kari,” Doctor Kida hums offhandedly, “Won’t be the first thing they think of, when they check the tapes.”

Boba Fett fits in surprisingly well with the other children, as old as the shinies sent off to war he may be.

And yet, in the end, Rex will not be able to help but remember that the boy was a grieving child all the same, no matter the extra time he had been given to grow up just a little bit more.

It is Boba, surprisingly enough, who actually points out that the obvious choices that will be put forwards are the Coalition.

When thinking of it, it does make perfect sense, although Rex will gladly admit to being a little bit biased in their favor.

* * *

Coruscant has little appreciation for a sleep schedule, that much goes without question.

Padmé, however, is more than used to that sort of thing. The light from the city blots out any sort of starlight, and any chance of a peaceful sleep in the dark.

Of course, the chances of Padmé sleeping peacefully tonight are slim to none.

Tomorrow, they hear the results of the vote in the Senate, and Padmé  _ knows _ her name was tossed in the ring.

This is not a clean race, like they should have had. There are no clearly drawn candidates or structured debates from any of the dozens of factions that make up the Galactic Senate. However, the point still stands.

She knows which other names have been tossed around- mostly younger, newer politicians like herself. Mon Mothma was suggested- Bail and Keziah were, too, of course, as was most of the rest of the Coalition (aside from Senators so fresh that they still take issue with the bright Coruscanti nights), but their core members have been brought up again and again.

Deep down, Padmé hopes that Keziah or Bail or Mon wins, not necessarily in that order. She has already discussed this with Bail and Keziah, and has made sure the Alderaanian senator and the T’karian senator take center stage in any half-baked, untelevised debates that they’ve had over the last few weeks.

She knows what the people are expecting, but she can’t do it. Not now. Not when the last Chancellor from Naboo was a Sith Lord who allowed death to reign unchecked for the sake of his war.

She will not be seen as a power-grabber, not here, not now.

Dawn rises in deep purples, blocked by thick clouds bloated with rain.

Padmé, like many others looking up into the sky this morning, wonders if that’s a good sign or a bad omen.

One thing is for certain, however-

Today, the Chancellorship will be filled.

* * *

Bail Organa is as surprised by the results as anyone. He had agreed to take attention away from Padmé so that she and her husband could still care for their children, yes, but he still hadn’t expected to  _ win. _

(If he’s being entirely honest, he still expected to come in second to a woman with morning-glory eyes and thundercloud winds and so many years on this senate that he does not remember a time where she wasn’t on the sidelines, watching.)

It is with shaking hands and lungs devoid of breath that he accepts the Chancellorship.

_ Have courage, _ he tells himself,  _ You have not failed them yet. _

Bail is well aware of the monumental weight that has just been placed upon his shoulders. It crushes his chest in like a thousand atmospheres.

The joy helps. That surprised joy, the ecstatic, laughing faces of people he has grown to know and love dearly over these months. It counterbalances the weight. Warmth spreads from his heart to the tips of his fingers. A laugh bubbles up from his chest.

“I will not fail you,” Bail whispers, meeting Padmé’s eyes, “You’ve put your trust in me. It will not be in vain.”

His eyes slide from her face to her daughter’s.

He still remembers what Padmé had asked of him, should anything happen to her and Anakin.

Right here, right now, he vows to the infants that it will not come to that. He will protect their family, and his, and all these people he cares for so deeply by protecting the Republic. He will re-shine the values that have lost their luster in Palpatine’s time, and he will step down with grace when it comes time for his own power to end.

The Chancellorship is filled late in the afternoon. They will not know for quite some time, but, in that moment the sky over Coruscant had turned lavender and golden with sun and rain, warmth and water chasing away the smog and the smell of the city for something cleaner, something brighter.

* * *

Of course, it is not the end of all things, but it is a start.

Ahsoka Tano finds herself on a balcony, that night, looking up at dimmed pinpricks of white, when, all of a sudden, the lights begin to go out, one by one, as if each and every citizen of the uppermost level of Coruscant has decided to turn them out at once.

The Temple’s lights swirl out, too, and then Ahsoka is no longer alone. She hears dozens of other Padawans dragging pillows out to the balcony, chittering excitedly amongst themself. Ahsoka is too busy watching the lights go out to pay what they’re saying much mind.

There’s a hand, on her shoulder. Taina Harzen offers a soft smile in the dark, and tilts her head upwards. Ahsoka follows the movement. She loses what she was going to say halfway between her lungs and her lips, and lets out a gasp, instead.

Ahsoka has been in the vast expanses of space time after time again, but she was raised on Coruscant.

Seeing the stars above Coruscant as they should be, for the first time- there’s nothing quite like it.

Ahsoka looks down just long enough to take in her fellow Padawans, and a few of the Knights, and even the troopers that have made it out to the wide balcony.

There are too many empty spaces, Ahsoka knows.

But she will take in this view, and she will be kind, and she will  _ live. _

For those who no longer can.

**Author's Note:**

> so for those of you well familiar with this series- you know that the first three fics were posted before any of us really knew about COVID, and to steal the breath went up only four days after the first US case. Well, I wrote from the perspective of someone who was curious how a corrupt (science fiction) government would react in a pandemic situation. Nearly a year later, it hits a lot different.  
> I was struck by the need two days ago to have a positive conclusion to this series, a sort of hope for the future in our own times. Stay safe, be kind, wear a mask, get your flu shot, and if you're over 18 and eligible to vote in the US, please vote this November, for all our sakes, and for those who no longer can.
> 
> shanah tovah u'metukah. let's hope 5781 will be better than its predecessor.


End file.
